


dumber than the dirt on the ground

by agent_orange



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Breakup Fic, M/M, get your head out of your ass and get together already, this is sad and i'm sorry i'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There are a lot of things I have to say to you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	dumber than the dirt on the ground

Brad leaves D.C. on a Wednesday morning in February. It's pouring outside, pounding hard on the pavement. Every so often a bolt of lightning splits the sky just before a rolling crash of thunder seems to shake Nate's brownstone to its foundation. The whole thing seems oddly poetic, like something out of a book he read for a Classics course.

It's so terrible outside that Nate insists he call a cab instead of taking the Metro. Even now, he can't help but try to make sure Brad takes proper care of himself. When Brad gets sick, he's a miserable bitch. Nate knows this from experience, and if someone doesn't force him to rest, he'll be feeling shitty for weeks.

"You really don't need to do that," Brad says, neatly rolling up the last pair of his boxers so they'll fit into his ruck.

"I do," Nate insists. "Just because—" he tries to swallow around the lump in his throat, but it's too big. "This doesn't mean I don't care about you. I do. I always will. But we both know that it's not working out, at least not right now."

"Okay, okay, no need to repeat yourself," Brad says. "Haven't we talked this 'issue' to death by now?"

While the words aren't particularly mean, Nate feels the subtext cut right through to his bones. "There's no need to be an asshole when I'm trying to be civil, Brad," he says.

"Funny, insulting me doesn't really seem like something a polite person would do." _Fuck_. Now Brad's just being passive-aggressive, angrily zipping up his ruck as he's turned away from Nate.

"I'm not going to do this," Nate tells him. "I'd be happy to talk about this some other time, but you're clearly upset and I think you should have some space for a bit."

"And you always know what's best," Brad practically snarls. "I'll wait outside, and if I left something here, mail it to Ray's house." He slams the door on his way out, hard enough that Nate winces involuntarily.

*

There are large chunks of space in Nate's DVD collection, and plenty of little holes in his bookcase. Brad left the fridge fully stocked, though, and the closet and dresser have always been more Nate's than Brad's. What's even worse is how much the apartment still smells like Brad. It already feels empty without him there.

Nate decides to clean, just to take his mind off of things, and sees that Brad didn't take the goddamn flat screen TV. He's leaving it here, then; if he was shipping it somewhere he would've told Nate.

That only makes Nate feel really shitty. He remembers how expensive it was, how much Brad raved about the high definition and amazing picture quality. He has no idea why Brad left it, because Nate really only turns it on for background noise and the news.

*

The next morning, he reads that a suicide bomber killed eighteen people in Kabul; Nate curses under his breath, and wonders if Brad will get urgent orders to redeploy. He knows that one attack doesn't automatically mean the military will panic, but things had been fairly quiet recently, and this could mean they're edging back into a state of unrest. Most days, Brad loves what he does, but Nate has conflicting feelings about it. He's really hoping Brad stays here, because he's careless when he's angry and he could make a mistake that costs him his life. Maybe that's selfish of him, or hypocritical, to keep caring when they're not together anymore, but that really doesn't matter to Nate.

*

As it turns out, Nate can hope for something harder than he's ever hoped for anything before, and the universe—or the Marine Corps—doesn't give a shit. Patterson tells him 1/1 is holding down a tiny combat outpost in remote Afghanistan, that they have been for almost three months now. Nate wonders why no one bothered to tell him sooner (yes, there's DADT, but their friends knew, and just because they're not together doesn't mean Nate's forgotten about Brad).

When he's home, he glues himself to the television, laptop resting on his stomach. It's almost like he's being possessed to do so, but between constant loops of the news and Twitter, he rarely manages to tear himself away. It's really terrible, he knows, but he can't help it.

Because of this, he goes out for drinks with friends from work much less, and when he does, he gets so trashed they have to pour him into a cab. Nate has no idea what the reasoning behind this is, especially because he gets killer hangovers, or why it becomes a semi-regular thing. He's not in college; he's a responsible adult who shouldn't be binge-drinking like a frat boy. And yet…

*

Nate has sex, in one way or another, with three guys and two women and very resolutely does not think of Brad. But he's never been a one-night stand kind of guy, so it all feels very weird and uncomfortable, especially in the morning. It's probably not a good thing for him to be doing, but the lack of real intimacy puts an end to it before Nate can start sleeping with someone new every time he goes out.

After that, he spends months not being touched by anyone else, only his right hand, and to burn off the excess energy, Nate's incredibly fucking productive. He does crunches and sit-ups and push-ups; he organizes everything in the apartment; and he spends more time at work. He loses five pounds from the extra mile he's added to his morning runs, and only when his clothes are way too loose does he realize that he can't keep going like this.

But nothing really fills the extra space in his life; it's easy enough to forget about at work, when he's got a million things to do, but when he's home, something's lacking. He misses Brad at stove, cooking diner and insulting whoever he hated at the moment; he misses Skyping with Brad; he misses just being with Brad, even if they weren't physically together.

When he thinks about it, Nate doesn't know how he and Brad managed to ruin their relationship so spectacularly. He does know what didn't fuck things up: it wasn't his occasional nightmares or Brad's reserved nature; it wasn't even that they didn't get to spend a lot of time together.

It had to have been the little things that added up, then, because they were great together otherwise. Nate thought they had years, maybe even a house and less-demanding jobs and a puppy. He's gotten past the point where he doesn't want to sleep or eat or get out of bed, but he still feels lonely, still aches for Brad.

The only time Nate ever gets the urge to call Brad is in the dark of night, when his insomnia is in full swing and his apartment's cold and he feels so lonely in his big bed. Somehow it's worse when winter starts to seep into his bones and he thinks this is how he'll spend the rest of his life, and he gives in to the desire more than once. It's a good thing he never drunk-dials Brad—that could be all kinds of embarrassing.

For some reason Nate can't understand, Ray sends him an email at least every few days, and calls every couple weeks—presumably to shoot the shit, but Nate guesses Ray is probably both checking in on him and trying to gauge Nate's feelings towards Brad. He half-expects Brad to be there and pipe in with _shut up, Ray_.

By now, Nate really should know that what he expects and what actually happens are usually polar opposites. Expect the unexpected, and all that; then again, the whole thing with Brad, from the beginning until now, has been unexpected.

*

Mike flies in for a visit, just a short one, but it's been a long time since Nate's seen him. He looks tired but happy, and he's now working as an independent contractor, which is much more lucrative.

They go out for burgers and fries and beer after Mike takes a nap and gets cleaned up, and he fills Nate in on all the guys. Walt went to sniper school; Lilley's engaged; Kocher still seems to have a death wish. His family's doing well, too. Nate has to dig his nails into his palms because he knows he's young and there's plenty of time for one, but he wants a family, and Brad…

It doesn't look like they'll be making one together.

Mike's looking at him funny, so Nate shakes out of it and nods, taking another bite of his bacon cheeseburger.

"You know," Mike says casually. "Nobody's really heard from Brad in a couple months. Person says he's cut off all contact."

Nate sputters a little. "He's _living_ with Ray. He told me that's where..."  "Not according to Ray," Mike says. "Brad was apparently never there."

Well, that's fucking great. Brad could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere and nobody would even—shit. Just leave it to Brad to fall through the fucking cracks. Nate can't help but feel responsible—of course Brad would go right back to his old ways. He wonders if Brad's started paying for sex; he hopes not. Even a random hook-up at a bar would mean he hasn't gone back to square one with his intimacy issues.

_Awesome_. Nate finishes his beer in one long swallow and feels nauseous. He doesn't want the rest of his burger, so he picks at it until Mike asks _Do you just wanna mope at home, then?_

"Thanks for understanding," Nate says, and he really means it.

*

He gets Mike set up on the couch after offering his own bed (Mike _is_ older, after all) and paces in his bedroom until it starts to make his head spin. There are white spots everywhere, and the walls keep moving. It takes a few minutes before everything settles down, but Nate is still unnerved.

He doesn't know if he should call Brad to check on him, or if Brad will be angry. But Brad's safety is more important than his mood, at least to Nate, so he dials Brad's cell phone.

_The number you have dialed is not in service at this time,_ the automated voice says.

The urge to throw the phone against the wall almost overwhelms Nate, but the rational side of his brain shuts the idea down. Thankfully.

Once he collects himself, he tries to brainstorm. Nate knows Brad has an extension at Pendleton, but that's not an option. Neither is leaving a message with his parents.

In the end, he gives up and tries Brad's home phone, even though Nate's not sure he still lives there. It's the best choice, probably. His fingers feel too heavy, but they shake on the buttons, and his heart pounds.

"Brad, I...I really hope you're okay," Nate says, trying to keep his voice from wavering too much. Mike said Ray hadn't heard from you so I assumed the worst and...never mind. It doesn't matter. Please just call me back to tell me you're safe."

He waits all day for Brad to call, but that doesn't happen, and then it's Monday and Nate has to go to work. It's easier to distract himself there, and he stays about an hour later every day that week, just fiddling around with some reports that don't really need to be changed.

When he hasn't heard from Brad by Thursday, he really starts to worry, but Nate's out of ideas at this point. He makes a mental note to call Ray in the morning—ugh—and stops to pick up some dinner.

There's a game on TV, Celtics versus Lakers, but Nate's not really watching it. He reaches across the coffee table for another slice of pizza—which he doesn't really need—and the doorbell rings, which is weird, because it's too late for any deliveries, and he wasn't expecting a package anyway.

Brad's standing at Nate's door, hair and clothes all rumpled, motorcycle helmet in hand.

"Hi," he says. "I got your message. We...we should talk."

"I can't believe you biked here," Nate says. "All the way here. Do you know how dangerous that is? You could have—I'm sorry, I'm sorry; I know you hate when I do that. Just come inside."

Nate steps into the kitchen to get Brad a drink and finds him halfway asleep on the couch. He sighs, but figures Brad must be exhausted, and covers him with a blanket before turning off the TV and retreating to his own bedroom.

*

The next morning, they go out to breakfast because it seems like the appropriate thing to do, and it's nice, if slightly stilted. Nate has a difficult time finding a neutral yet interesting conversation topic, and Brad drinks more coffee than he probably should. Still, it's definitely a step in the right direction, and the food is good enough to meet Brad's standards.

He really doesn't want to have the conversation they've both been avoiding in public, so Nate holds off until they're back at his apartment.

"So," he says, trying to compose his thoughts into intelligible sentences. "I'm really glad you came. I...there are a lot of things I have to say to you."

"Go ahead." Brad folds his arms across his chest, which isn't promising. Nate knows Brad's doing it because he thinks it'll keep him from getting hurt.

"I'm in love with you," Nate says, looking Brad right in the eye. "I don't care if that makes you uncomfortable, because it's the truth. I've probably loved you from the first day I met you, as...weird as that is. You have no idea how hard it was for me in Iraq, wanting so much to protect you and not being able to. When you exploded that ordnance—Jesus, Brad, I was so fucking scared. I couldn't let you do the other one, even though you probably would've been fine. I was _terrified_ , Brad, and I'm terrified you'll go back. Losing you..." by now, he's probably scared Brad off forever with all the emotion, but Nate needed him to know.

"I won't leave. I _can't_ leave, Nate, it's...it's everything," Brad says. They're sitting closer together now, and Nate can almost feel the pain in Brad's voice hitting him

"I wasn't asking you to," he responds. "I couldn't. But I can't lose you, either. I'm done fucking around—I'm serious about this. More than I was last time. I really want us to work, so if you could just stop and think about what I said…"

"Okay," Brad interrupts. His forehead tips down, and closer, and bumps Nate's, but he doesn't pull back. "I'm sure you'll come up with some kind of crazy solution that lets us keep this private but still see each other. Let's give it another shot."  He knows that's the closest he'll get to a declaration of love from Brad, so Nate nods and lets his thumb run up and down the curve of Brad's neck like he'd wanted to a few minutes earlier. Suddenly, Nate realizes how exhausted he is, at least emotionally. He feels achy all over, and drained of any energy. It's not outrageous—he basically put his entire self out there, raw and open.

"We can plan later," Nate agrees. Right now, he's comfortable where he is.


End file.
